


Always Been There

by TheMightyChipmunk



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Blood, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Neighbors falling in love, OOC everybody a little bit, Pining Grantaire, and i apologize for that, lots of pining, pining!jolras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:56:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1751909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyChipmunk/pseuds/TheMightyChipmunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire's lived have never been easy, but they've always had each other, no matter what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY so, this is a 'Sophie and Carter' AU type work... that's a book (that might only be on Kindle?) It's amazing and perfect and I am borrowing heavily from that plot. There are differences because of course, I didn't want to steal the entire story, but this fic is very much based off of that book. You don't need to read it to understand the fic, but everyone should because it is a game-changer. 
> 
> also the characters are very OOC, especially with domestic Enjolras, but I am trying to work in as much of their characters as i can while still adhering to the original work and the plot i have in mind... 
> 
> i hope everyone likes it!!!! it isn't as fluffy as the usual stuff i write, but i still hope you guys enjoy it :D :D

“Guys, come on! Hurry up! We don’t wanna be late!” Enjolras yelled up the stairs as he grabbed Emilia’s bag off the couch so he could put her lunch in there. She always forgot it if he didn’t do it for her.

“Breakfast is on the table.” He said hurriedly as he saw his two little siblings bounce into the kitchen, Emilia all smiles and energy and Eli behind her, practically falling back asleep once he sat down at the table. They ate in relative silence as Enjolras went about cleaning up the kitchen and getting everything in order. His head was already aching so he put on another pot of coffee and pulled out two portable mugs from the cabinet.

“You guys ready?” he asked as he poured cream into each mug, a lot in his and only a sliver in the other. The two of them nodded and Em bounced over to her bag and then straight to Enjolras, wrapping her arms around his waist and swaying a little.

“Is R coming over today? He said he would help me with my art?” she asked sweetly, stumbling over her r’s only slightly now, but still enough for it to be endearing.

“I’ll ask him, Em. I’m sure he would love to help if he can.” He bent down to his knees so he would be at eye level to fix her pig-tails, which were a little uneven. “Did you do these yourself?” she nodded triumphantly.

“Yes, sir! Don’t they look good?”

“Perfect, sweetie. I am very proud of you.” He said with a kiss to the top of her head. The bus honked loudly then and Enjolras hurried to get them out the door. He tossed Eli his bag and shooed them out the door quickly.

“See you two after school! Have a good day!” he shouted. Emilia waved happily once she got on the bus but Eli didn’t even spare a glance. Kid wasn’t a morning person, but Enjolras still sighed, a little hurt. He shook it off and bounded back into the house to grab his messenger bag and the two thermoses he had left on the counter. He sealed the caps on to both and then left, locking the door behind him before he went to wait on the steps of Grantaire’s house. They both somehow managed to get late start, starting school at second period. Enjolras did it so that he could see Eli and Em off to school, but Grantaire did it for his mom. And probably for Enjolras too, but he didn’t like to think that way.

“Good morning, Apollo.” Grantaire greeted with a grin, closing the door behind him softly and locking it. He groaned happily when Enjolras handed him the thermos. “You really are a god, Enj. Thank you.” Enjolras rolled his eyes at the praise but smiled when Grantaire took an appraising sip and nodded his head approvingly. Enjolras already felt his step falling a little easier, in Grantaire’s presence. He made the walk to school a whole hell of a lot easier, even if he knew he wouldn’t get his comforting presence on campus.

“Em wanted to know if you were coming over tonight. She could use some help on an art project. Do you think you could?” Enjolras asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice. If Grantaire was keeping Emilia company it would be easier for him to focus on the paper he had to write for history. It was due Tuesday and Enjolras had barely even finished his first draft. He hated being that unprepared for things, but the house had been a little hectic lately, since Emilia had gotten the flu last week and they’d had to scrounge up more money for Eli’s eighth grade trips and whatnot, and he used as much time for sleep as he could.

“Yeah, sure. I could probably come over around six?” Grantaire offered. Enjolras grinned in response and nodded.

“Perfect.” Enjolras breathed. They continued walking without much conversation and that was one of the things he loved about Grantaire. Silence didn’t get uncomfortable between the two of them. And in both of their lives, silence was a thing to be craved. It was one of Enjolras’ favorite parts of the day, walking under the trees with Grantaire, their arms occasionally brushing along the way. Enjolras wished he would have the courage to just take the other boy’s hand in his, but he never did. That was one portion of his life where Enjolras was the very opposite of brave. He also wished he could tell Grantaire that breaking off when they were walking was fucking stupid. Because he hated that every morning R would stop about three streets away from campus, right before people would possibly be able to see them and let Enjolras take a significant lead, so that whoever saw the two of them wouldn’t think they were together. They were just neighbors who walked the same way. Never together. It made Enjolras’ heart clench sometimes, but he knew it was necessary, separating his home life from his school one. He didn’t want people asking questions or getting close because people would look at him differently. They would look at both of them differently because as much as the media, in its twisted way, tries to encourage no bullying and no judgment, that’s all the teenagers Enjolras meets seem capable of doing. Well, most of them, anyway. Not Grantaire. And not Jehan, either.

Enjolras had met Jehan at the soup kitchen he and the kids volunteered at on the weekends. Well, Enjolras volunteered and the kids mostly ate. Jehan was there a little more often than Enjolras, since he didn’t have two younger siblings to raise, but he was always really welcoming and Enjolras enjoyed his uniquely macabre and optimistic personality. Jehan was also one of the only people who Enjolras had ever taken home. The only reason Enjolras was okay with it was because he knew Jehan struggled with his home life as well and Enjolras had really needed a babysitter the week of his SATs junior year. He was pretty great about it and Emilia had loved him. Although, Emilia loved everybody, but still. It was important that Enjolras had someone else that knew him.

Of course, no one knew him like Grantaire. Enjolras wasn’t even sure he knew himself the way Grantaire knew him. They had always been neighbors; both of them born into the houses they lived in now. Well, they weren’t born _in_ the house; that’s gross. They were born in hospitals, but they had lived in their respective houses for their whole lives. Their windows were, stereotypically, right across from each other and that was pretty much how their friendship began. They had had classes together in elementary school and Enjolras was aware of the boy in his periphery vision. Grantaire was always just the little boy next door whose dad screamed a lot. They didn’t _really_ acknowledge each other’s existence until the fifth grade.

Enjolras hates this story. It probably epitomizes everything that is wrong with his life. It isn’t the exact moment everything went wrong because shit, everything was fucked since Enjolras was born into his family. But that night… the only person who probably hates the story more than Enjolras is Grantaire. He’d never told it to anyone before, but it hung in the air between the two of them whenever Enjolras mentioned his mother.

Again, it was the fifth grade. Enjolras was ten and had always been small for his age, the youngest-looking in his class. Oh, and Enjolras’ mother was a prostitute, for as long as he could remember he had been aware of the fact, too. Even in the fifth grade and it had aged him entirely too fast. This was a time in his life, though, when Eli was still really little and Enjolras himself wasn’t exactly capable of taking care of a family, and thus his mother was around a lot more than she was when Enjolras hit high school. She even went as far as working from home, every once in a while and for the most part Enjolras had learned to tune it out. He would close his eyes and duck himself under the covers and imagine he was anywhere but there. It usually worked, but on that particular night it was too loud and his mom sounded a little too scared. They were yelling something about prices being too high and product not being good enough and Enjolras didn’t care. He just wanted to make sure his mom was okay.

So Enjolras tip-toed out of his room and leaned over the bannister. He thought he’d go unnoticed, so when he looked down and saw a huge man gripping his mom’s wrist tightly both of them red in the face yelling at each other, Enjolras didn’t expect the giant to look up at him and slowly sneer. Enjolras’ heart started beating rapid-fire and he dashed to his room, terror sinking in his stomach. He ran into his room and ducked under the covers, bringing them up to his chin.

“No, no, no, no.” he muttered, each word getting louder and louder as he curled himself tighter in a ball and closer to the wall. He considered jumping out of the window when he heard his mother and the man hurrying up the stairs, but he knew the jump was too far. He stared down at the ground, two stories down a whimpered. His door swung open the next second and he looked up at the huge man with wide eyes. The man just smiled and moved forward. Enjolras’ breathing sped up again and he tried to move back a little more, but his aggressor just ripped the blanket off of him and grabbed his tiny wrist in his giant hands and tugged him forward as his mother screamed at the man to stop. Enjolras wanted to scream for help. He knew he should, but he couldn’t make his throat work, so he knew it wasn’t his voice that screamed.

“No!” Enjolras turned around as much as he could and met the eyes of the boy across the fence, leaning out of his window and reaching out, as if he could just almost save Enjolras. It was foolish, obviously, but the outburst of noise was just enough to distract all three of them and buy them a little time.

“Let him go.” A deep voice said from the door. Enjolras reluctantly turned his head away from Grantaire’s wide eyes and looked to the voice. It was another neighbor, Grantaire’s older brother, Enjolras assumed, although he had never really talked to him. He was tall, a little over six foot, and had rusty red hair and his blue eyes were set in steely determination as he held up a gun to the man holding Enjolras.

“I said fucking _let him go._ ” He said again, nodding as the bigger man dropped Enjolras against the bed. Enjolras immediately scrambled back towards the window, wanting immediately to jump out of it and into Grantaire’s room, to get as close to him and as far away from them as possible. Feuilly pointed the gun towards the door, gesturing for the man to get out and he did reluctantly, staring at Enjolras lecherously the whole way until Feuilly pushed him hard out the door. The second the two men left the room, Enjolras’ mother was by his side, hugging him tightly and running her hands over his messy curls. Enjolras wanted to push away but he was too tired to fight, so he let his mother smother him with love he knew she barely felt. It wasn’t until he heard Feuilly enter the room that he opened his eyes, still ignoring his mother’s murmured comforts.

“Thank you.” He whispered to the man. Enjolras wanted to turn around and say thank you to Grantaire as well, because something told him that if it wasn’t for him than Feuilly never would have known to come over, but his mother still had too firm of a grip on him. “Tell him I said thank you, too.” Enjolras added quietly. Feuilly smiled knowingly and nodded. He stepped forward and ran a hand fondly through his hair that his mom had just straightened, making Enjolras smile despite the situation. Feuilly then turned his attention towards Enjolras’ mother, and his expression wasn’t nearly as fond. He flipped the gun in his hand so that the barrel was in his hand as he offered it to the woman.

“You know how to fire one of these?” he asked, his voice flat. His mother nodded slowly, staring at the gun and not meeting Feuilly’s eyes. “Then use it. Take care of your fucking kid.” He spat out before leaving after giving Enjolras one more small smile and saluting goodbye. Once both of them had left Enjolras alone, his mom staring at the gun in her hand the whole walk out, Enjolras turned around and lifted his window open again. He leaned out a little and stared into Grantaire’s now dark room.

“Grantaire?” he said into the dark, hoping the other boy would hear him.

“Enjolras?” he heard a small voice echo back. Enjolras squinted his eyes, trying to see the boy in the dark and eventually made out his vague outline.

“Goodnight.” Enjolras said, raising his hand in a small wave and smiled widely.

“Goodnight.” Grantaire said back. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Enjolras smiled. He began to close his window but after a moment decided against it and pushed it open all the way. He grabbed his pillow and laid it at the edge of his bed so that he could face the window until he fell asleep. When he woke up that morning he saw Grantaire had done the same thing.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, Grantaire!”

“Not now, ‘Parnasse.” Grantaire grumbled as he picked up his pace and headed towards his sixth period of the day, and thank God his last. Enjolras had looked a little stressed this morning and Grantaire was itching to get back to him. Then again, he was always itching to get back to him, but being irrevocably in love does that to you, so he’d learned to get used to that ache. It still didn’t make it any easier to deal with people at school, though.

“Come on, just a quick question. Is Enjolras gay?” Montparnasse asked suddenly. Grantaire almost stuttered in his steps. This was pretty new for Grantaire. Okay, it was completely new. He had never been asked about Enjolras by anyone at the school. He had always thought it was weird, being that Enjolras was the epitome of flawless, with his shining golden hair, high cheekbones always dusted naturally with pink, lovely red lips, and bright blue eyes. Still, no one really went after Enjolras, thank fucking god. Grantaire didn’t think he could handle something like that, even with the best of guys, let alone Montparnasse. The kid was nice enough, but he was also a kleptomaniac. And addicted to sex, with any gender. And was too good with a knife to be considered safe.

“Since when do you want Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, trying to keep the hatred out of his voice. No way in fucking hell was he going to let Montparnasse think he had a chance with his Apollo.

“Since he walked in front of me this morning and I realized he’s probably the prettiest thing on this campus. Next to me.” ‘Parnasse said with a wink that made Grantaire want to punch him even more. And Enjolras was so much more attractive than fucking Montparnasse, like seriously. The guy was so fucking vain.

“I’m pretty sure he’s asexual.” Grantaire tried. He knew it wasn’t true but he also knew it was a common thing thrown around about the boy, since he never made an effort to be with anyone. Montparnasse took a second to think about that, genuine concern crossing his face that Grantaire didn’t expect.

“No. He’s always with that Jehan kid. I’m pretty sure they were fucking at one point. He’s not asexual. He’s gotta be gay right?” Montparnasse asked, but Grantaire didn’t answer, just shrugged. He was too busy counting his breaths out as he tried not to get too angry because he really did not want to be present when Montparnasse verbally thought out how to unsuccessfully seduce the love of Grantaire’s life. And he also knew that, no, Jehan and Enjolras were not hooking up.  That was mainly because Jehan and Grantaire were hooking up for a little while and Jehan had made it clear that he would never because Enjolras wasn’t that type of friend. Grantaire knew he probably wasn’t allowed to be relieved at that, considering he wasn’t exactly being chaste in his love for Enjolras, but he did nonetheless.

“Have you ever seen him naked?”

“ _What_?” Grantaire asked angrily, snapped out of his spiral of thoughts. Montparnasse raised an eyebrow at his outburst, the picture of amused composure himself.

“You’re neighbors, right? Have you ever looked over and seen him changing or something? I bet he’s got a killer body.” Grantaire gaped at him and stopped walking. He didn’t realize he had until he saw that Montparnasse was a few steps ahead of him. He shook his head and hastened his pace, sighing in relief when they finally got to their classroom.

“No ‘Parnasse, I have never seen him naked, you fucking creep.” Grantaire said as they slipped into their seats in the back. Montparnasse just raised his hands up in mock-surrender and leaned back in his chair. Class started and Grantaire tried to get a grip on himself, but he couldn’t stop bouncing his foot and tapping his pencil and staring at the clock. It wasn’t until the door opened that Grantaire was finally able to stop feeling like he was going to explode in anger, because Enjolras walked through the door with a junior girl behind him. Grantaire knew he was an office aid sixth period and he came into Grantaire’s class every once in a while. Enjolras looked over the faces in the class as the girl handed the teacher a piece of paper and his gaze fell on Grantaire, making his heart beat a little faster in the cheesiest of ways. Grantaire smiled a little and Enjolras smiled for a fraction of a second before shifting his gaze, but it was perfect nonetheless, his perfect contentment and relief and getting to so each other once in their day. They didn’t have any other classes together and they had that stupid pact that they didn’t interact at school, so the day was a long and dark journey without Enjolras to brighten it. He lived for the moments when they actually got to see each other.

“Good lord.” Montparnasse muttered, low enough that only Grantaire could hear him. He didn’t have to turn around to see the asshole’s leering gaze on Enjolras. It made Grantaire almost see red. Why did Enjolras have to be so perfect? Especially today, in his tight-as-sin skinny jeans (which no one else noticed, but Enjolras rolled them up at the ankle since they were just little too short because Enjolras had had them since the ninth grade and he hit his growth spurt in the tenth) and his green v-neck (which has paint splatters on the inside of it since it actually used to be Grantaire’s) and his lovely blonde hair pulled back into a low pony tail, with errant curls framing his face perfectly. Actually, Enjolras was perfect. Why the fuck did Montparnasse have to be such a creep?

“Shut the fuck up, ‘Parnasse.” Grantaire growled quietly. Montparnasse only laughed, the sound grating Grantaire’s ears. He watched Enjolras walk out of the room with slight jealousy, which was temporarily dissipated when he realized Enjolras was walking with Taylor, Grantaire’s ex, but still. He wished he could be with him, always. Instead he was stuck in a psychology lesson with an asshole breathing down his neck. Just his fucking luck. So, in order to not jam his pencil into his head to escape the boredom, he leaned back and thought of Enjolras.

The two of them really became friends after the thing with his horrible mother, the night he had sent Feuilly over to stop him from getting hurt. The next day Enjolras had knocked on his door and the two of them sat and talked on Grantaire’s front porch until their parents had called them in for dinner. Those were the days when Grantaire’s mom was still coherent, and she had cooed over how adorable Enjolras was, ignoring the bruises peppering his wrist and upper arm the exact same way she ignored the bruises that were practically permanently on Grantaire and Feuilly.

They were close then, but not to the degree that the two of them would become close. Because Grantaire and Enjolras on the surface are entirely different human beings and even as kids their parents were a little confused by their friendship. Enjolras was always more reserved in his happiness and uninhibited in objections, while Grantaire was exactly opposite, making a multitude of friends with his booming laugh and infectious smile and often ignoring and suppressing the things in his life that made him truly unhappy. Enjolras liked to stay in and read anything and everything while Grantaire absorbed every movie and TV show he could get his hands on. Grantaire was every teacher’s favorite, engaging in witty banter and making charming jokes that no one could ignore, while Enjolras was rarely appreciated in class, with his biting intellect and refusal to conform. They were entirely two different people, and they got on so well because everything Enjolras was Grantaire needed to be. He admired everything about the boy that he himself wasn’t and that was exactly why he would give anything and everything to him, if Enjolras would just ask.

Grantaire came to the realization of the extent of his feelings for Enjolras when he was sixteen. Well, to tell this story you also have to know that Feuilly left when Grantaire was eleven, not too long after the incident with Enjolras. Feuilly had come to his room late one night, kissed him on the forehead and told him to be strong, because things were about to get really hard for him. Grantaire knew without him having to say it that his brother was leaving. Grantaire didn’t blame him, not at all. If Grantaire could have left he would have too, without a doubt. And he heard from his brother every once in a while, a letter, a phone call here and there. But Grantaire doubted the promise Feuilly had made to come back for him would ever come true.

Anyway, once Feuilly left Grantaire’s dad changed. He didn’t just hit when he was drunk anymore. If they made one wrong move, said one wrong thing, there was a fifty-fifty chance that he might beat them, Grantaire and his mom. And since Feuilly wasn’t here anymore, they both had to split up his old portion of their father’s anger, and Feuilly had always taken a lot of it. The man used to hit them until they cried, but once Feuilly had left he’d taken to beating Grantaire until he s _topped_ crying. It wasn’t long until Grantaire had conditioned himself to never cry, never yell out. That night when he was sixteen he did though, he cried out. That was what called Enjolras over. That was what saved his life.

Grantaire had spent the summer before his sophomore year getting in shape. He’d hit his growth spurt at the end of his freshmen year and so he decided to use that to his advantage, maybe one day be strong enough to fight against his father. Every morning he ran to the gym, took a kick-boxing class there, and then ran back. So one night when Grantaire came back from a party or a girl’s house or wherever he had been, and seen the man slap his mother so hard she stumbled over the couch and passed out, Grantaire knew he could stop him.

He shouted at him to stop. His father shouted back and when he looked up at him his eyes were glazed over with liquor and Grantaire wanted to vomit as they screamed. His father hadn’t thrown a punch yet, seeming content to just verbally abuse his son. But Grantaire was just as equipped to fight back against that now as well, considering the amount of time he spent with Enjolras, verbally sparring about everything worth talking about.

His father insulted his worth, Grantaire pointed out that it was his job at the book store that bought all of their groceries and that it was him who drove mom to her doctor’s appointments weekly and it was him who fixed everything around the house. The man threw a right hook that made Grantaire stumble backwards towards the kitchen.

His father demeaned Grantaire’s intelligence and Grantaire argued that he had maintained a 4.0 GPA, taking three AP classes and tutoring freshman after school (in every subject but geometry and chemistry). His father pushed him hard so that his back rammed painfully into the kitchen counter.

His father mentioned the uselessness of Grantaire’s art and the boy went livid. There were few things in the world that Grantaire had ever truly loved: his mom, Enjolras, Eli and Emilia, and his art. Whether it was painting or dancing or singing or whatever, it was the only thing that had ever come naturally to Grantaire, the only thing about him that he was ever truly proud of. And when he said that and finished it off with a _fuck you_ , shoving his father backwards slightly, the older man stared at Grantaire, reached behind him, and simultaneously grabbed Grantaire’s left hand and a knife and slammed the instrument down, pinning Grantaire’s wrist to the cabinet above him. Grantaire’s eyes watered and he screamed loudly, the pain lancing through his body as his father stumbled away from him with a twisted grin.

Blood gushed out the wound when Grantaire tugged the knife out and dropped it to the floor, cradling his wrist against his chest. He took a few deep breaths, trying to steady his dizzying head and stumbled past his father to his room. Walking over to his closet, he grabbed his old baseball bat in his uninjured hand and strode back into the kitchen, where his father was bent over the fridge, grabbing a beer. Grantaire didn’t think twice as he brought the bat back, across his left shoulder and then swung it forward hard, hitting his old man right in the temple and knocking him flat on his back efficiently. Grantaire wanted to keep going, wanted to keep hitting him so he would never wake up, but something in the back of his mind told him not to, so he dropped the bat and stumbled backwards. He fell down and rested his back against the couch. Blood poured from his wrist and trickled down his face from where his father had punched him and Grantaire knew he was losing too much blood, but he couldn’t make himself get up. He was content to just close his eyes, surrounded by his two similarly unconscious parents, but then Enjolras walked in.

“Grantaire?” he asked quietly as he slowly walked down the short front hall and into the living area where Grantaire was sprawled out.

“Enjolras.” He groaned out, sitting up a little as the boy ran over to his side. Grantaire never forgot the first image of him walking in, the still-scrawny boy clad only in pajamas, blonde hair impossibly wild, blue eyes burning with determination, and gripping _Feuilly’s gun_ in his left hand tightly.

“Holy shit, Grantaire, you’re bleeding again.” Enjolras mumbled sadly, hands fluttering over Grantaire, not knowing what to do. Grantaire tried to smile and nodded, suddenly realizing that if he was about to die he was really fucking happy he got to see Enjolras one last time. Enjolras stumbled up quickly and grabbed a dish towel of the counter, bringing it back and pressing it tight to Grantaire’s wrist. He hissed out in pain and Enjolras winced in pity.

“Do you have a cell on you?” Enjolras asked, his voice only stuttering slightly.

“Left pocket.” Grantaire choked out. Enjolras fumbled around for it and sighed in relief when he found it, not dead or broken. He hastily dialed 911, holding tight to the towel which was steadily being soaked with blood, Grantaire’s blood he slowly realized, his eyes fixed pointedly on Grantaire’s eyes. He tried to focus on that blindingly fierce blue, but it was hard to stay conscious. Enjolras quickly told the dispatcher the situation and the second he had hung up he dropped the phone and put his free hand on Grantaire’s cheek.

“Grantaire, R, please, stay with me. Don’t close your eyes, look at me.”

“Trying…” Grantaire mumbled. Enjolras whimpered a little above him and moved his hand down to grip Grantaire’s neck tightly. He tried to widen his eyes, but couldn’t. The last thing he remembered before succumbing to sleep was paramedics storming into his house and hearing himself bark out a bitter laugh.

He woke up with Enjolras at his side, head pillowed on Grantaire’s uninjured arm. That was the moment he knew that he would give his life to the boy, looking at him lying next to a hospital bed for him. Enjolras had looked so innocent and so perfect and Grantaire felt an overcoming sensation of love, unconditional and unlike anything he had felt for anyone else before, even though he knew then that it had always been there, from the moment he saw those blue eyes waiting for him on his front porch in the fifth grade. He was completely taken.

Grantaire wished he could have reveled in that fact, wished he could have taken Enjolras in his arms and declared his love for him, spent every minute of their lives together being stereotypical high school sweethearts, but of course, shit happened. After that day, Grantaire’s life completely changed. His father never came back, whether he was taken to jail or just _left_ Grantaire was never told. Social services forbade any further interaction and he couldn’t care less, honestly. He knew deep down the bastard was never coming back. And his mom, well she didn’t wake up the same. She had been sick, mentally, for as long as Grantaire could remember and his father leaving and the head injury and the stress of the whole situation was enough to push her over the edge. She was never the same. Instead of the sweet, quiet woman she once was, she was twitchy and irritable and _prone to self-destructive behavior due to hallucinations_. They gave her medication and Grantaire helped her take it as often as he could, but he couldn’t monitor her one hundred percent of the time, so it was hard. Especially since that meant he had to disable their stove and oven and any other appliance that gave of heat, and replaced all the toxic substances around the house, such as Windex or bug spray or anything like that, with water. He also only kept spoons available in the house and put the knives and forks and even the spatulas and whisks in a locked drawer in the kitchen that only he had they key to.

Luckily, not all of it was learned the hard way. It was in the first year when she had downed a whole bottle of Pine Sol, trying to clean her body of the demon germs that she told him had wormed their way into stomach. Grantaire had panicked when he say the empty bottle and called 911 and then Enjolras, after telling his mother with shaking hands and a heart filled with regret that what she had done was exactly what the demons wanted and now she had to throw it all up, so they wouldn’t win. His mother had looked at him with bright eyes and nodded happily, scurrying off to the bathroom to stick her fingers down her throat and induce vomiting. Grantaire sat right outside the bathroom, slumped against the wall, tears streaming down his face for the first time in a long time as he waited for the paramedics to get there. Enjolras came first, immediately wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s curled up form and mumbling words of comfort that Grantaire soaked up gratefully.

He still didn’t stop crying until his mother was back in her bed the next morning, her stomach pumped and her dosage of medication bumped up. He stood in her doorway staring for a long time before Enjolras walked in behind him, gripping him by the shoulder and telling him they needed to make the house a little safer. _Baby-proofing_ , Grantaire had said bitterly, making Enjolras grimace. Nonetheless, the two of them managed to get the major dangers out of the way, and there weren’t any major incidents after that. And the minor ones Grantaire would always fix once they happened, learning that they couldn’t have: cable, a coffee pot (although that didn’t turn out too bad, as Enjolras made a point of making some for Grantaire every morning), windows without locks, etc. All of it he couldn’t have done without Enjolras. He owed the boy his life. And that was just one of the many reasons that he hated the fact that they couldn’t be together at school.

“Enjolras! Slow down!” Grantaire whined as he strode down the road a little faster once they were almost home and far enough away that no one would see them together.

“Hey, R.” Enjolras said when Grantaire fell into step beside him. Grantaire grinned down at him but Enjolras didn’t look up at him and he realized that the boy was still walking faster than usual.

“Is something wrong?” Grantaire asked, confused. Enjolras took a deep breath and looked up at Grantaire then. He shook his head and smiled a little.

“Nothing.”

“Bad day?”

“You could say that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave any comments and concerns and thank you for reading thus far!!! :D :D


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